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In the aftertime now...Jul 14 '02 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line It's been about a year and a half now since I wrote this...I'm much happier now, as is the home I live in, which was then a place in shadow.
*Originally written in December 2000, penned under heavy mental stress. I think the emotional weight for the time is reflected appropriately in this poem. Then again, I experienced it, so perhaps I am a bit biased. I've recently fixed it up here and there, however the main of the body still remains. Sleeping, But to Dream Myself Awake Settled down with Nyquil Nightcap Sleep, but to wake -- only reason to sleep since It provides little relaxation, restoration From the events I wade through weakly, weekly. Always clawing through another day, Or slipping into another day never Easing into another day, Never something as nice as that. In the aftertime now, in a new chapter, Finding that I sleep but to wake. No more discovery, no more adventure in dreams, No more child dreams. Scenes I coveted near, held so dear. Now to the end of evening, the closing of eyes No more than canvas to paint my demons alive. I now lay down to darkness Sleeping with Vangelis’ Portraits So long ago, so clear Somehow to sleep, dreaming, to dream myself aware. Sleep, but to dream, as someone once said. Sleep, but to open up your mind when your mouth won’t budge. Sleep, but to wave away the world for a time. Sleep, but to paint your inner demons alive. To sleep, Oh, to sleep. What is it I see in my dreams at night? Visions of faces, former or future, I cannot tell. There are these hands to cover my eyes -- Who tries to deny me the benefit of sight, The sight of someone I knew… someone I have yet to meet? Hands to cover my eyes, then nothing. Left in solitude, left in my dream, a hollow man on a hollow night. I wake feeling worse then when I closed my eyes. Like I had never slept at all, how I wished that were true. To go through another day, another trial, then onto evening, No, please, no. Opening my door to night, A mechanical response, like the workings of a puppet on string. Not my choice, never my choice, I don't want to go there again! But I always do -- the closed eyes, that place I'd grown to despise. As the puppet master had his way with the puppet So the demons will have their way with me. *it's been about a year and a half now since I wrote this. Things have changed. I have changed. The world has indeed changed. I'm much happier now, as is the home I live in, which was then a place in shadow. The shadow has since lifted. Thank you for reading. Comments and such, as always, are appreciated. (c)2000,2002 John P. Dunphy  |
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